A series of undocumented events
by SirShriek
Summary: Silly one-shots of things that happen to the hero and their companions when they're not saving Thadas and think no-one is looking.
1. Nothing to do today

**Events that are better left undocumented  
**

Obvious stuff is obvious, I own nothing, except perhaps the scenario maybe.

* * *

"Quite a view up here." The Inquisitor said with a hint of mock wonder "I can see into my room. Hey, who let the nugs out?" He was perched upon The Iron Bull's battle hardened shoulders.

The two of them had been charging around Skyhold's courtyard 'Perfecting a new fighting style' Bull would grin when questioned, if you were willing or crazy enough yourself to approach such madness. Lavellen was looking heroic with a medium sized cooking pot on his head, the one used to make stews in when out in the field, and an impromptu lance in the form of a mage staff with a sharp metal point on the end and some kind of shiny green gem that matched his eyes on the other. He had managed to skewer two training dummies on it and was aiming for a third, that happened to be the one Cassandra was using. The sight of their boss charging towards them lopping the heads of dummies sent the training Charger mercenaries scattering. The Inquisitor narrowly missed a surprised Cassandra and piked the dummy trough the head lifting it up away. Suffice to say she was not happy at being interrupted or having most of the training equipment destroyed for amusement and conveyed that displeasure though the medium of heated words punctuated with flailing arms in angry jerking motions.

Bull slowed to a stop to catch his breath leaning on his pole-axe, as Dorian had appeared from the tavern to investigate Cassandra's angry yelling, leaving his cards unattended, no doubt Sera will peek at them, and Varric tagging along in the hopes of finding a good story.

"This is not what I thought of when you were yelling 'I'm riding the bull!' " Dorian commented, twirling the end of his evil Tivinter mustache.

Varric doubled over in a sudden outburst of spluttering laughter.

As you could guess, it was turning out to be a slow day. A sunny, there-is-hole-still-in-the-sky-but-we-can't-deal-with-it-now-anyway, slow, boring dull day. Surprisingly there was no crisis to deal with, no meetings, no dragons and no nobles' arse to kiss or kick.

The mage staff-turned-lance was was quite heavy, having acquired three unwilling passengers so the Inquisitor unceremoniously dropped it four feet to the ground. Only for it end up propped up like the two dummy's were murdering the third. Straw stuffing strewn everywhere.

Out of curiosity Lavellen tapped his nail on one of Bull's horns and was rewarded with a dull thunk sound. Solid. Somehow he had expected them to be at least partially hollow. He wondered how Bull could keep his head up with the weight of them. He could rest his chin on his chest, he was tall enough to be always looking down anyway, so one would notice.

"I have an idea. Varric? You wouldn't happen to have a spare bow sting do you?" The Inquisitor asked innocently.

After rummaging around in his pockets the dwarf found two and handed one to the Qunari who passed it up to his elven passenger.

"What-? What are you doing up there Boss?" Bull asked suspiciously, feeling a gentle but persistent tugging on his horns. The elven rouge had deftly tied the bowstring to both protruding, supposedly bone, appendages and made a kind of crude slingshot-bow-thing.

Varric, catching on to the Inquisitor's mischief, tossed up one of Bianca's bolts. The Inquisitor casually plucked it out of the air as if he had all the time in the world.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Solas had silently snuck up upon the merry band of whatever you call four people messing around.

"Wise? Probably not. But with an archer, artifacer, warrior, and now two mages, what could go wrong that we couldn't deal with?" Lavellen murmured somewhat dismissively, inspecting the crossbow bolt and smoothing the fletching with a thumb. Bull's horns were much stronger, sturdier and not mention bigger, than a conventional bow or crossbow and theoretically could take more strain and launch a projectile further and with greater impact.

With a resigned sigh Solas said with a similar tone a mother uses when resigned to the fate that her child will to do that thing that she said not to and knows it will only end in tears and a skinned elbow "I'll find a healer." and slunk off before anyone even had a vague notion to object.

Aligning the bolt with Bulls brow, Lavellen leaned back as far as he dared, drawing the bowstring.

Iron Bull had been strangely quiet and still, probably waiting for whatever was about to happen to happen and then find out just how far he could throw a crazy elf. Turns out it's further than the bolt went.

The bolt flew majestically for seven paces before nose-diving into the dirt.

Varric sauntered over to the bolt, almost exactly upright in the dirt, and swaggered back to the group twirling it in one hand. "Well that was disappointing."

"Maybe an arrow? It is lighter." The Inquisitor suggested.

"Might break. Worth a shot though." Varric inwardly smiled at the pun.

An arrow was found and the process was repeated with much better results. Arrow loaded and ready. The Inquisitor let the string slip from his grasp. The arrow sailed though the air like a bird and hit the wall with the same sound a bird would have made, a sharp crack. The arrow's shaft had shattered with the sheer force of the impact. On closer inspection the arrow head had survived and buried itself between the keeps bricks.

"Damn." Lavellen said quietly.

And thus ends the tale of the Quani-pult or Qunari long bow. No one's thought of a good name so far.


	2. The terrible Gryphon of Table Mountain

**It can sometimes get a little dull when left behind at Skyhold, or when the **

**Inquisitor is in meeting's all day and you just can't drink anymore beer otherwise you'll be useless for weeks.  
**

* * *

It was a warm summer's evening and Blackwall was in his stable room, admiring his newest carving he had just completed. It was a small statue no bigger than his open hand, of an elf. It was dressed in mercenary garb and even had a little war bow made from sticks and twine.

His collection had started with a Gryphon, which proudly stood atop the table, and, as a challenge to himself, now included several of the Inquisitors mounts, Horse, Heart, Dracolisk and even a Giant nug. Each with little saddles and bridles.

He sat cross-legged on the straw covered floor and reached under the table for wooden box, packed with yet more straw. Nestled in the straw was other similar sized carvings. He carefully took them out one by one and stood them in a line beside him.

There was a muscular Qunari made of a stray birch log he found in with the firewood.

A Mabari, his personal favorite, posed in a fierce snarl and another laid down peacefully asleep.

A human man and lady dressed in robes, complete with staff's tipped with a shard of colored glass**.  
**

Two other human ladies, one in a frilly dress that had taken hours to carve each ruffle, and one in basic square armor and a third in a hood and cloak.

A dwarf that could sit on the fierce Mabari's back and not fall off, and also stand on its own, if somewhat oddly.

Two elves, a lady with short hair and a man with a smooth, almost perfectly round bald head.

A slightly smaller human man with a floppy straw woven hat**.**

A Templar Knight with feathered paldrouns, if viewed from the side it kind of looked like an abomination hunched over.

A Human man with a glorious beard and a small collection of weapons and shields.

He had debated on painting his creations but decided to leave them as plain worked wood, mostly because he couldn't decide what color do paint most of the cloths.

"What will the story be this time?" Blackwall mused to himself.

He picked up his newest addition. "You can't always save the day, can you?" He put the mercenary elf on the table then the box upturned over it.

Thus began the tale of **The terrible Gryphon of Table Mountain.**

"The Gryphon's got him! It flew up there!" The Dwarf exclaimed.

"But there's all these baddies in the way." Baldy elf pointed out.

"Oh no!" Squeaked the lady in the ruffeled dress.

"But not for long!" Growled the Human Man Mage.

"Die!" Roared the Templar charging forward.

A full blown battle against straw stuffed sock abominations was imminent. With a muffled war cry he made the dwarf stab a spear into the sock monster and the angry mabari finish it off.

Five vanquished sock deamons later, the others having running off in fear, the group of wooden hero's faced the maze of despair.

_What a rubbish name_. The Grey Warden thought to himself, but he couldn't think of a better one at the time.

The maze of doom? Was constructed of the few books he owned, propped up on the pages, spines in the air, like little tents.

"We could just walk around it."

"Or go though."

"Looks easy enough."

The companions entered the maze of doom with trepidation, the hound leading the way with its superior sense of smell.

Pressure plates activated by an unwary foot split the group. Only the human Robe Man and GloryBeard made it out the maze of doom safely. The others momentarily forgotten, trapped. _Rescue them later in another story perhaps._

Having gotten tired of waiting the mercenary elf had picked the lock on his box cage, slain the gryphon and used it's intestines to repel down from the table mountain.

"I thought I'd lost you!"

RobeMan and Mercenary Elf smooshed their smooth, featureless faces together. Making kissing noises.

"So that's what we do." Dorian said leaning against doorway, recognizing the wooden figures robes as one his own innumerable robes and the statuette of the Inquisitor.

Blackwall jumped at the sudden intrusion.

"Dolls? I thought so." Varric said.

"Brings a new definition to 'playing with yourself.'" Dorian chuckled.

With a huge grin the archer and mage bumped fists at the sight of the Grey Warden's rapidly reddening, embarrassed face.


	3. Two taloned beast

**Two Grey Warden's, a Circle Enchanter and an Ex-Warrior Caste surface dwarf all walk into the Deep Roads...**

* * *

What is that noise?

*Click* *Click* *Click*

A slow, repeating rhythm of clicks. Alistair strained his eyes against the ever darkening gloom. He could see almost nothing, the pale glow of Wynne's staff in front of him reflected off of The Warden's silverlite armor in front of her. He could hear the heavy, ale scented breathing of the dwarf in the lead, and again that clicking.

The clicking of eight talons on eight long legs tapping against the stone tunnel walls. Red eyes burning, poison soaked fangs mere inches from the back of his neck. Two spindly talons reaching down, agonizingly slowly, to scoop him up in one fell swoop and whisk him away never to be seen again. His bones lying forgotten in the darkness never to be laid to rest.

That's what he thought of of the mysterious clicking sound. No-one else seemed to hear it. Only him. Poor Alistair, one of the two surviving Grey Wardens to be eaten by giant spiders whilst traipsing around the Deep Roads. Insides liquified into a syrupy spider delicacy. The skin between his shoulder blades started to crawl uncomfortably.

"Wynne? Wynne?" He said in hushed tones.

"Yes?"

"Do you hear that?"

They both stopped for a moment and listened.

"No?"

"Never mind then."

They quickly caught up to the others with a fast walk. After a moment of silence, the clicking resumed.

"Alistair?" Wynne said.

"Hm?"

"Could you not tread on that?"

"Not tread on what?"

"My wool."

"Pardon?"

"It's what you get from sheep."

"Your knitting? Down here? Wait, how can you even see what your doing?"

"I have it down to a fine art dear. I can feel what I'm doing. You've just undone all my work since Caridin's Cross." She said sadly.

Instead of being devoured by subterranean arachnids, Alistair now in fear being stabbed to death by an old lady with knitting needles.


	4. TheCuriousConverganceOfCrainialCoverings

**Inquisitor Adaar has too many hats.**

* * *

Inquisitor Adaar had never had any need for a hat, mostly because her magnificent horns got in the way. Yet she still collected them. Dozens of them. Abandoned by careless, drunken nobles at parties, liberated by dexterous fingers, looted from foes and even one found inside a high dragon. One guess as to how it got there, Maker knows how it managed to remain in one piece.

Vivienne had already stolen away all the so called 'fashionable ones'. The Inquisitor had let her, those hats were not fashionable, just plain silly, the epitome of ridiculousness. Why would you want a hat with_ that _on it? _That_ resembling the unmentionables of an unfortunate creature, decorated with delicate colored glass cut like precious gems.

"Sera?" The Inquisitor asked, cautiously stepping into the elf's room, it was cluttered almost to the ceiling with presumably stolen stuff. Sorry, borrowed with no intentions of giving it back.

"What?" Sera replied already bored with the conversation.

"What could we do, if we had, say, a hundred hats?" The door frame creaked under the wight of the Qunari.

Sera thought for a moment, her brow creasing slightly under her rough cut hair. A moment passed.

"How am I supposed to know what to do with the stupid things?" Sera finally growled in frustration of not being able to come up with an idea for a prank.

"Put them on everything?" Adaar suggested.

"It's something to do, I guess."

Sera bounced away with a curious Qunari following in her wake. Adaar usually had no problems with the elf-of-questionable-sanity's pranks, still she prepared herself for a terrible idea or something to go horrendously wrong. She also started to think of a suitable explanation as to why the Inquisitor of a respected organization was doing whatever it was they were dong.

The two of them snuck into Blackwall's quarters beside the stables. A pink frilly Orleision bonnet appeared upon Blackwall's Gryphon carving.

Every mount within the stables acquired various head wear. The Dracolisk's objected the most, stamping their strange feet, they quietened down once they realized the hat's weren't coming off, resigned to their fate they just huffed moodily. The giant nugs seemed to quite like them. The horses didn't care at all and the Hearts were turned into proud living hat-stands. Dennet was very dismayed at that when he arrived the following morning.

The ugliest hat they could find they put on a tree in plain view of Vivienne's balcony, but out of her and her staff's reach.

They slipped a knitted tea cosy, though not technically a hat and decorated with pom-poms of outrageous colors, upon the sleeping Sola's shiny cranium. One pointed ear sticking out of the knitted spout.

The Iron bull acquired three hats. One on each majestic horn and another balanced across the two.

The people of Skyhold awoke in the morning with in various states of confusion, bewilderment and annoyance at the sudden sprouting of cranial coverings.

The Hat Uprising, The battle of the bewildered bonnets, this event would come to acquire many names, some admittedly better then others.

Upon waking to the beautiful sounds of birds singing their morning symphony and the warm sunshine upon her face, Vivienne wandered onto her little balcony. The sight she saw sent shivers of revulsion though her and almost made her puke on the spot. The withered tree that grew from the wall beside her balcony had grown the most awful decoration. She went back into her room and thrust the stained glass doors closed. It didn't help, she could still see it's ghastly silhouette.

The simple knowledge that such a thing could exist, let alone be perched like some hideous bird of death, in plain view of her humble abode, made her seethe with suppressed rage at such a nigh-on blasphemous act.

Throwing open the doors once more Vivienne reached for the offending garment, alas it was too far. She retrieved her staff and tried again. Just a little further.

And that's how the ambassadors never showed to their meeting with the Inquisitor, not did the Inquisitor herself. Because they had laughed themselves into a near death state at the sight of the Imperial Enchanter suspended from her undergarments in a mega wedgie.

How _scandalous._

* * *

Let me know if there is anything silly thing you would like to read about. I'll give it a whirl at writing it. _  
_


	5. Intervention

**An elf with a beard,**

**Is not to be feared,**

**It's just really weird,**

**I suck at poems. **

* * *

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I can't not look, it's glorious."

"Stop it."

"Can I touch it?"

"What!? No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Just once?"

"_Nooo._"

"What if I order you to let me touch it?"

"Still no."

"It's very distracting."

"I know."

"Please? Just let me caress it's seemingly silky soft length. Just once."

"Do you know how wrong that sounds!?"

"Actually.. I don't. Please? I'll buy you a pony, erm.. another pony?."

Inquisitor Levellen was practically on his knees in the mud of the Hinterlands begging Blackwall to let him touch his magnificent beard.

"Would you get up off the floor? It's embarrassing, and it's starting to make me feel uncomfortable."

Clasping his hands together and widening his eyes as much as possible, the Inquisitor looked to be on the verge of tears.

Blackwall turned on his heel with an exasperated "I can't deal with this." and trudged away to poke holes in Red Templars brains with his sword.

Levellen knelt there, shin guards completely caked in muck, saddened by the glorious beard-bearer's departure. Gradually he became aware that he was at exact eye level with Varric's chest hair. The awe-inspiring cotton-like, golden, un-tameable fuzz, tumbling from the open neck of his red silk shirt like a waterfall of liquid wheat. Beckoning to be caressed.

"Don't even think about it." Varric warned.

The elf inched forwards a little and tentatively reached out a slender hand.

"No! Bad Inquisitor! Bad!" Varric scolded and slapped the Inquisitors hand away with a bunch of elfroot they'd picked earlier, it was the whole reason they had came out here in the first place actually.

The Inquisitor's hair stood on end and he hissed like an angry cat before running on all fours up the hill and disappearing to the trees.

Dorian laughed at the spectacle. Then he sagged almost to the floor with the realization that he would have to go find the weird elf and convince him to come back to Skyhold, because Varric had stamped off to join Blackwall in stabbing things.

It took a day of running, tracking, chasing, being chased and an incident involving a giant that is not allowed to be spoken of, but often is in hushed whispers in the darkened back room of the tavern, the tale growing ever more absurd with every telling, to recapture the Inquisitor.

* * *

Later on at Skyhold in the main hall.

"This is an intervention my Lord Inquisitor. You seem to have acquired an obsession..?" Josephine paused and glanced at the assembled advisers and companions for conformation that this was indeed an obsession. At the small nods of confirmation and a few facial expressions that said 'Isn't it obvious?' Josephine continued; "With hair?" She looked quizzically at her clipboard to make sure she had read that right.

"It's fascinating. You grow it on your face." Lavellen clasped his own smooth chin in both hands, squishing up face for a moment. "Qunari, Humans, Dwarves, all have it. But not Elves. Look at him, he's forty-two and I'm surprised he still has his eyebrows!"

Solas, sheepishly standing at the back of the crowd, being pointed at by the Inquisitor, turned an alarming shade of red as everyone gathered, collectively turned to stare at him.


	6. Suprise

Hawke had been sat on the ground for some time now, with the Fear demon crouched beside him, its long legs folded under its bulbous body. Neither acknowledged the other, preferring the eerie silence. Hawke surveyed the swirling black and green sky for the umpteenth time, every time he looked up there, it was a different view. The only constant feature was the Black City, always looming on the horizon. He stared back down at the floor. That changed too. Grass, dried and dead, lush and green, long, short, dirt, mud, dry cracked earth, leaves, sand, different coloured sands.

Suddenly the Fade cracked and split open, spitting out a battered Corypheus, then melted back together seamlessly, like nothing ever had happened.

Hawke looked up their new friend. "Hello. Come to join the party?" He asked with obviously feigned cheer.

Corypheus picked himself up off of the floor, dusted off his robes and limped over to join them, sitting on what was now a large rock, on the other side of Hawke, away from the Fear demon.

"I lost." Corypheus said dejected.

"Again." Hawke grinned, amused. He even giggled a little.

"_**Shut. Up.**_"

"Look on the bright side Ugly, you're physically in the Fade. That_ is_ what you wanted, right?"

"I suppose. But without my people I can't get up there. Why aren't either of you dead yet?" Corypheus asked, changing the subject.

"Stalemate."

The Fear demon sighed sadly in agreement.

The battle between Hawke and the Fear demon had raged on for what had seemed to be an eternity. Neither could gain the upper hand and after being in the Fade for so long, fatigue didn't really have an impact anymore. Like a fire running out of fuel, the fight had slowly dwindled to them just standing there, then sitting. Taking it in turns to punch each-other in the arm, and even that stopped after a while. They'd chatted for a bit, about simple things. Turns out Fear likes bunnies. The next big thing to happen was Corypheus' surprise appearance

"So, know a way out?" Hawke asked hopefully.

"Without the Anchor, no."

Hawke's impressively long string of profanity that followed, echoed out to the farthest corners of the Fade.

* * *

**Authors note: **Yeah, so, as it turns out Corypheus does not actually die. You see him get tossed into the Fade and that's it. Check it out on the wikia.


	7. Be brave Hawke

After a long hard day of returning the lost things he'd found, throwing fireballs at people and rescuing Merril from a tall tree, Maker only knows how she got stuck up there, Hawke was ready to collapse into bed at a moments notice. He stumbled through the front door of his stately home, kicked off his boots and tripped over the dog, who rolled over onto his back, paws in the air, and let out an almighty long, loud, and utterly, disgustingly smelly, fart. Hawke gagged and slapped his hand over his mouth and nose, "You detestable, ghastly, mutt. Have you no shame!?" Hawke croaked, trying not breathe in the noxious gas cloud. The dog, being deeply asleep, simply snored in response. Hawke picked up his boots and dragged himself up the stairs as fast as he could manage.

He unceremoniously tossed the boots into a corner of his bedroom, which was quickly followed by his light armored robes. Dressed only in his pants and a pair of miss-matched socks, he lit a candle on the mantle and rummaged around in his drawers for his pajamas. As he slipped his arm into the second sleeve of his pajama shirt he happened to glance upwards where a pair of glassy black eyes stared back at him, as empty as the void.

Hawke stood frozen for a moment in utter horror as he stared up at the most heinous of adversaries, a cold fear grasped his heart and squeezed it viciously in an icy embrace. Blood frantically thrumming in his ears and gaze firmly transfixed on the repulsive intruder, he slowly retreated a few steps, his butt bumping into his writing desk, not that Hawke had any other desks for other things. He secured his pajama shirt, mismatching buttons to button-holes for his attention was solely on the black withering mass upon his ceiling.

Steadying his nerves, he thought out a plan, by rummaging though what had worked before. He couldn't ask his mother, she was gone. He couldn't ask his sister, she was gone. He couldn't ask his brother, he'd only laugh and chase him with it, besides he far away. He couldn't wake Bohdan or Sandal, that would mean looking away or shouting and the foul little creature might escape or be scared off and hide in his boots or or his dirty clothes recently dumped on the floor or worse, his clean underpants drawer. That would be a nasty surprise the next day. Nope, calling for back up was not an option, he would have to do it himself. Solo.

If he could face a duel to the death with the Arishok, he could do this. He hoped.

Summoning any modicum of courage he had left, he blindly searched the surface behind him. Knocking over various things, his hand finally clasped the smooth form of the glass jar he stored his writing utensils in. It originally had a delicious looking jam inside it, but looks can be deceiving, it was awful. Hawke had tried to feed it to the dog, he didn't like it either and that says a lot coming from someone who, to Hawke's disgust, eats random piles of manure. The jam was given to the miners of the Bone Pit and so far there have been no more monster problems.

Armed with jar and lid Hawke approached the bed and climbed onto it, as he cautiously rose to stand he wobbled, unused to the usually solid ground beneath his feet moving.

The creature suddenly moved, its eight legs scrabbling wildly, and Hawke let out a loud ungodly squeak. If it were possible he would have died of embarrassment right then and there.

When it stopped squirming, Hawke paused a moment, waiting to see if would move again, it didn't. He reached out slowly with the jar, steeled his nerves and slammed it over the insect. The impact startled the creature and it let go of the ceiling. It slipped around the inside of the jar, unable to grip the smooth surface. Hawke screwed the lid on as tightly as he could manage.

The next morning Bohdan found a spider in a jar with a note under it.

_Who ever is reading this, I Hawke have caught this foul creature, prowling the estate. After intense interrogation I have learned nothing of its plans to attack us. Please release the __spider __prisoner outside. So we can follow it to its co-conspirators and end their reign of terror once and for all. _


	8. I'm sorry, did you want to?

Origins, after the Landsmeet.

* * *

Alister was angry, with her no doubt, she could tell he was fuming before he even reached her door. Quick footsteps thudding back and forth along the hallway outside her room in the Arl of Redcliffes's estate in Denerim, the elaborate rugs did little to deaden the sound.

Finally the agitated pacing stopped and Tabitha Mahariel steeled herself for the incoming onslaught of accusations, tears and possibly screaming. She heard a deep breath as Alister did the same before coming into the room.

"You let him live." Allister said, words hard-edged and clipped sort.

"Allister, I-" Tabitha began.

"I don't want to hear it!"

"But-"

"After all he's done, you let him live. He is responsible for the death or the Wardens, he abandoned them, left them to face the darkspawn alone." His voice trembled. "He murdered Duncan, King Cailen, incited civil war across the nation. How many have paid with their lives for his madness?-"

Tabitha found her chance to speak up, when he at last had to pause for breath. "I'm sorry, did you want to sleep with Morrigan?"

The unexpected question made him sputter, choking on equal parts laughter, shock and utter horror. "I- Wait, what? What does that even..? I don't.. How is that relevant?" The momentum his anger had picked up dissipated, he certainly hadn't expected her to say that.

"Morrigan found a ritual in Flemeth's Grimoire. It involves a certain intimacy" She wiggled her eyebrows at him for emphasis."I that didn't think you'd want any part in. Morrigan needs a Grey Warden, that's why Loghian has to undergo the joining, so he can do it, um.. her. When the Archdemon dies, we all live happily ever after."

"Except for Loghian, I still want him dead."

"We can send him off to Orlais."

"That's not actually a bad idea."


End file.
